Hollow Bones and Shallow Grave
by dufflecoat-supreme
Summary: Carter's son is dead and Kem is a shadow. That familiar feeling of despair is returning, just how far will he let it take control?
1. Chapter One

A/N: This was the first ER fanfiction I wrote (no power on God's earth will make me post the first piece of tripe I wrote), as I wanted to have a bash at writing angsty Carter (because season 10 was lacking) and Carter/Abby (also lacking). Slightly AU since it was written mid season 10 before I even saw any spoilers (indeed before I'd even been introduced to Kem), so sorry. It received very high praise at erhq. (now gone forever) and I thought I'd archive it here. Ta, Lauren.

Disclaimer: Don't own it.

**_Hollow Bones and a Shallow Grave._**

Chapter 1.

Tired. Was he tired? More like exhausted, he sat out in the ambulance breathing in the cool night air, trying to relax his thoughts, to escape for just a moment into silence.

He had only been on for 4 hours and already he felt as though he was going to collapse, this was his first shift since his son had died and he was ready to hate himself all over again.

It wasn't that he blamed himself for his death or for Kem's behaviour, it was just he knew this routine all too well, the soft sympathetic stares and kind words or better yet the silent denial that hung thick in the air of County General, he hated himself because he was doing it again, playing along with the game, the endless utterances of polite inconsequential words.

"I'm fine. Thankyou for asking."

"It's been hard, thankyou for asking."

"No, I'd just like to be alone. THANKYOU FOR ASKING"

He'd played this game before, he knew the rules, never let anyone get too close, just work and numb the pain, he hated himself because he knew (though he would never admit it consciously) where this game was leading him, and his self disgust was bubbling away in his sub conscious, but he had learned how to repress it, just ignore your conscience, what good will he do you? There is no right or wrong, my son is dead.

Things at home had been hectic, Kem had become so distant, she didn't want to be touched, she didn't want to talk, and she didn't let him know anything. They played the same game at home, but he could always tell when he came home that she had been crying. John didn't know what to do, his comfort would be of little help to her, because he was so mixed up in his own pain that nothing he said or did could make it better. Her grief made him despair, he didn't know how to talk to her, he hadn't known her to be anything but strong and full of life, the thought occurred to him every four minutes that he hadn't known her long enough to understand her and now he doubted he ever would.

Sleeping beside her was like sleeping next to a corpse, for two people who had shared so much to now become total strangers.

He heard the distant wail of ambulance sirens and it woke him from his daze. He was still here.

"John?" Came a soft voice from behind him.

"Yeah," he replied without turning around.

"We've got a multiple trauma coming in 2 minutes. 3 car collision, 6 victims."

His back remained turned and Abby paused a moment, staring the cold angular lines of his back. A back that she knew beneath his scrubs was lined and insulted by ugly scars; ever present reminders of his past.

She continued to stand, unsure of what to do or say, this was the first she'd seen of him for about 2 months.

"John," she urged quietly, "are you alright?"

He turned himself towards her slowly, his eyes were vacant and sunken, a smile crept unfamiliarly onto his face, he looked hollow, empty.

"I'm fine, thankyou for asking." He said as he slouched inside.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter 2.

Swept up in the pandemonium again, John Carter was lost to chaos once more.

Kerry hadn't wanted him to come into work just yet, but he nagged her until she relented. Of course he was on fewer hours, but he would soon be past that stage, he knew that she had too many problems of her own to worry about him. He wanted to work, because work was a chance to escape from himself, to think about someone else for a change.

It was therapeutic in some ways and destructive in others: every child was his son and every pregnant woman was Kem.

At the funeral he hadn't cried, Kem had wept openly and hysterically, but John had remained stoic and cold.

This was the only way he knew how to deal with pain: to suppress and deny until it all came cascading down.

"Charge to 200. Clear!" He ordered. He was working on a 25-year-old male with severe trauma to his chest and head.

"He's going into V-tach!" Chuny yelled.

"Charge to 280. Clear!"

"We've got a rhythm!"

Carter let the Neela take over and he burst into trauma 2, barking out orders over his shoulder.

He worked quickly helping to intubate another young victim, then proceeded to the next room, taking control of each situation, forgetting whatever troubles he had.

After stabilising 5 of the six victims he strode into trauma 1 again.

"What have we got?" He yelled above the ruckus, his view of the victim was obscured by his colleagues.

"I've got it Carter!" Pratt yelled, hurriedly trying to do a C-section.

Carter took this as a challenge from his much-maligned former student. He pushed his way through the mass and gazed down upon his soon to be patient. His gaze froze over.

A woman in heavy labour, she was bleeding profusely from several lacerations on her arms and upper torso and a shard of glass was protruding from her abdomen.

They were trying to protect him; they didn't think he could handle it.

"I've got it." He stated coldly, Pratt looked into Carter's eyes, this was the first sign of life he had seen in months and he didn't like it, his eyes were burning with rage and something else...desperation? The look stopped him, Carter took this as an invitation and he stepped in, pushing Pratt out of the way. The nurses looked at both Pratt and Carter nervously, but soon returned their focus to the patient.

Carter delivered the baby handing it over to the OB nurse and doctor, he wanted to attend to it, but he knew he still had to work on the mother.

His orders never faltered and actions were precise, but there was something...something in the way he gave the orders, the tone of his voice, the rising frustration and desperation in his words...

As the nurses wheeled her up to surgery, Carter pulled off his gloves, dumping them into the waste, his eyes set on Pratt, the look on his face suggested both stubborn pride and rage, he left the room, leaving his co-workers filled with concern.

A/N: Short but sweet (Or not), there's more coming and I'll update every few days seeing as I've already completed it.


	3. Chapter Three

Much of the night was pretty boring, a couple concussions, minor lacerations etc. Nothing too stressful or serious, Carter was still fuming over the incident with Pratt, he was a good doctor, he didn't need their solemn stares or hushed worried tones, he could handle it.

He put on his coat quickly, hoping to avoid everyone. He slipped out, not unnoticed, but unapproached. He could feel their eyes upon him.

It was just like before.

He drove home quietly, and entered his house. Kem came out of the bedroom, her face streaked with the silver remnants of tears, she clutched a baby rug to her chest, she didn't look him in the eyes.

"How was your day?" He asked, knowing what her reply would be.

"Good" came the empty response.

He waited; she just stared at the floor and wrung the blanket in her tiny, effeminate hands, which had done so much good before. He wanted to yell at her, shake her, to hold her and tell her that he loved her and that everything was going to be okay, but he didn't. He just looked at her with tired eyes.

He shook his head and muttered, "Good? Good." As he walked out of the room, leaving Kem to waste away, to bury herself next to her baby.

He crawled into bed, too exhausted to eat anything, but he was beyond sleep. He remembered nights when he had stared at the ceiling all night long until one of the servants came to wake him; he had thought that those days were behind him, it had been what, 4 years now? Funny how history had a way of repeating itself. Maybe his life was just fated to be one big tragedy.

Finally after 5 hours of staring at one spot on the ceiling he fell asleep. Alone. He woke up three hours later and he considered staying in bed and trying to sleep, but when he rolled over and realised that the other side of the bed was undisturbed he got up, it wasn't something that uncommon of late, but it still worried him, he wasn't that far gone yet.

He pulled his robe over his body, which ached with lost sleep. He walked down the hallway and past the nursery, which he had never finished painting.

He hadn't been in there since...since he had rushed from the nursery with Kem, filled with fear, but still hoping that their baby was fine, that nothing was wrong.

He went back to the nursery door and paused, he pushed the door open hesitantly. He took a breath and closed his eyes before taking a step inside.

It was so quiet.

Everything was just as he had left it. The paint can still on the floor in the corner, the brush beside it, dried paint splattered on the floor. He shuffled over to the corner, drawn to it. The final brushstroke he had made was still there. Mocking him, his baby was alive to him then. He grazed his fingers over the brushwork, staring absently at the hue of robin's egg blue. He choked on his emotions before finally collapsing into shuddering sobs.


End file.
